


Built a house in the middle of your chest

by givebackmylifecas



Series: On your back in the glass [2]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nairobi deserved to live so she does, Protective Berlin, Ridiculous amounts of fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, all the fluff tho, berlin taking care of palermo, hurt!palermo, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: The problem, Andrés thinks as Martín kisses his way down his neck, is that they’re still in the middle of a bank heist. And as much as he would like to forget that, they still have hostages to control and gold to melt.Follow on from my "alternate version of season three and four if Berlin were still alive and hadn't seen Palermo since he left him before the mint heist" fic "What if this is all the love I'm ever shown".you don't have to read it, although you might be a little lost if not
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Helsinki | Mirko Dragic & Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: On your back in the glass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752175
Comments: 27
Kudos: 238





	Built a house in the middle of your chest

**Author's Note:**

> oookay so here (finally) is the second part of the story and it picks up literally about five minutes after the other one ends.
> 
> Going to drop TWs for canon-typical violence, derogatory language (as is canon), reference to a canon rape (i promise you Arturo gets his come-uppance in this),
> 
> Fic title from "Sour Breath" by Julien Baker which is a total Palermo without Berlin song

The problem, Andrés thinks as Martín kisses his way down his neck, is that they’re still in the middle of a bank heist. And as much as he would like to forget that, they still have hostages to control and gold to melt.

“Martín, stop,” he says, gently pushing Martín away. The other man takes a step back, his face delightfully flushed, his hair a mess.

Andrés watches a Martín’s jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists. “What is it? What did I do wrong?” Martín asks and Andrés respects that he looks him in the eye, even though he can tell the other man is embarrassed.

He sighs and pulls Martín close again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, mi amor. But Tokyo tried to start a coup less than half an hour ago and we still have an absurd amount of gold to melt.”

He can feel the moment Martín relaxes, his muscles loosening and his hands unclenching to come and rest at Andrés’ waist. “Of course, you’re right. So what’s the plan?”

“Well,” Andrés says, moving them so that Martín still has one arm around his waist, but they can walk at the same time. “First thing’s first, let’s go check on Nairobi. See if she’s up to cracking the whip in the forge.”

Martín nods and Andrés tries to ignore how right it feels to have him tucked under his arm.

They let go of each other just before they reach the door.

Helsinki and the nurse are both sitting by Nairobi’s bedside, but she looks better than she did. The nurse smiles at them and excuses herself to the bathroom.

“How are you feeling, Nairobi?” Andrés asks.

She makes a non-committal gesture. “I’ve been better. But I think I’m on the mend.”

“She is. She’s going to heal up just fine,” Helsinki says, gently patting her hand.

Nairobi focusses her attention on Martín. “Palermo, I’m glad you’re still here. Helsi told me what happened before Berlin dragged you off.” Martín nods and Nairobi grins weakly. “I’m glad none of us were around for that, did he tear you a new one?”

“He wishes,” Andrés mutters and as much as he regrets the words, the shocked look on Nairobi and Helsinki’s faces as well as the indecent shade of red Martín turns are worth it.

Nairobi laughs, groaning when it aggravates her injury and Martín shoots Andrés a look that tells him he’s going to pay for that later.

“Palermo, you should probably change back into a jumpsuit,” Andrés says to break the tension. “I think there are some spares over there.”

Martín nods and heads over to the corner where they had piled extra masks, suits, and fake guns. He looks over his shoulder, unusually self-conscious considering Andrés once saw Martín strip in front of a hundred people in a bar in Rome, so Andrés pointedly turns his back.

“Hey, don’t worry, I can’t see my own feet from this angle,” Nairobi says.

Andrés feels a tiny flicker of warmth towards her, which is quickly extinguished when Helsinki grumbles: “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“I suggest that you forget everything you think you saw,” Andrés says sharply, his mind remembering Helsinki going back into Martín’s room after Andrés had lost his cool at seeing Martín’s scars.

Nairobi grumbles something that sounds a lot like “pissing contest” but shuts up at a look from Andrés.

“Okay,” Martín says a couple of minutes later, walking back over to them, once again dressed in their red uniform.

“Damn,” Nairobi says, once again stirring the pot. “Seems like I’m the only one in this room who doesn’t get to see you naked Palermo.”

Andrés laughs when Martín’s lip curls in utter disgust. “Yeah no, you’re not my type sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t mine either,” Nairobi says and Andrés decides to intervene before this veers into dangerous territory again.

“Okay, Nairobi, I know you’re injured but as soon as you’re able I would like you to go back downstairs and get those forges working double-time,” he says and she nods determinedly. Andrés opens his mouth to station Helsinki somewhere preferably far away from Martín, but then Denver comes sprinting into the room.

“Gandia’s escaped!” he yells and Andrés blood runs cold.

“How?” he asks and Denver scowls.

“Rio was on guard, says he froze up and couldn’t shoot.”

“Fuck,” Martín swears next to him.

“Okay, Denver, Helsinki with me. We’re going to find that son of a bitch and shoot him. Palermo, stay here,” Andrés orders.

“What?” Martín asks, flinging a hand out to grab Andrés’ sleeve. “Why do I have to stay here?”

“Because someone has to protect Nairobi and your eyesight is still shot to hell,” Andrés says, trying not to let his need for Martín to stay safe and protected filter into his words. Martín looks like he’s going to argue again and they just don't have time for this so Andrés decides to throw caution to the wind and pulls Martín into a bruising kiss. One hand buries itself in Martín’s hair, the other clutching desperately at his waist. Martín’s hands are clawing at his back, as if he wants to climb inside him and if they were anywhere else, Andrés would let him. “Stay,” Andrés orders when he releases him and Martín nods, looking a little shell-shocked.

“Damn,” Denver says behind him and Andrés gives Martín one last look, before turning away.

“Denver, Helsinki let’s go! We don’t have time to stand about gawping.” He strides out of the room without a second look, afraid that if he sees Martín standing there, waiting for him to come back, that he won’t leave.

They find Tokyo, Stockholm, and Rio in the lobby. “Right, we need to split up,” Andrés decides. “But in pairs, no one go alone. Rio, with Denver, check the governor’s office. Tokyo and Stockholm, that way, shoot on sight, I don’t care what the Professor says. Gandia is dangerous and I’m not losing anyone because of that bastard. Helsinki, you and I are going this way to check the offices. Everyone understand?”

The others all nod and they start walking as quickly as they can.

Gandia is like a fucking ghost, every room they look in is empty. They meet Rio and Denver in a hallway twenty minutes later.

“He wasn’t in the office, but someone has been there, there was an empty box of ammo on the desk,” Rio says, his hands shaking, unable to look Andrés in the eye.

“I thought we searched the room for weapons?” Andrés growls and Denver steps forward.

“We did, it must have been better hidden than we thought.”

Andrés throws his arms in the air. “Great, so now that psycho is armed. Okay here’s the plan,” he begins, except he doesn’t get to tell them what the plan is because the next thing he knows they can hear gunshots and a woman screaming.

“Nairobi!” Denver says and Andrés’ heart drops into his stomach.

He doesn’t wait to give the others orders, just starts running to the room he left Martín in. He runs into the office, the others close behind him to find Nairobi sitting up as best she can, pointing at the other door.

“He shot Palermo,” she gasps. “He took him with him.”

Andrés follows her gaze and sees a trail of blood on the floor, leading out the other exit. He takes his gun in both hands and doesn’t bother to reply to Nairobi, just sprints after the trail Gandia left.

The hallway seems impossibly long, but when he finally rounds a corner, there is Gandia, dragging Martín along behind him. Martín’s eyes are closed and he isn’t moving of his own volition at all any more. Andrés tries to tell himself that doesn’t mean anything as he roars Gandia’s name, gun aimed at the other man’s head.

* * *

Martín stares after Andrés when he leaves, trying to ignore the look of shock on Denver’s face, the hurt on Helsinki’s.

“Wow,” Nairobi says next to him. “Has he done that before?”

Martín nods silently.

Nairobi sinks back into her pillows. “I owe you an apology. I guess he does love you.”

“I guess,” Martín says quietly, trying his best not to lift his hand to his lips like a teenage girl.

“You know, all the others thought you hated each other,” Nairobi says conversationally.

Martín turns to look at her. “The others? But not you?”

Nairobi looks strangely proud of herself. “Nope. I told you, I could tell that you loved him.”

“Cause the Professor told you. That’s what you said.”

“Yeah, I might have lied about that. The Professor just told Tokyo and I to stay out of it when we asked. Actually his exact words were ‘why don’t you ask Berlin when he’s practising with the guns’,” Nairobi says reluctantly.

Martín laughs. “Wait, so you didn’t ask again, because you’re scared of Berlin?”

Nairobi looks at him incredulously. “Um yeah. I think you’re the only one who isn’t and that includes the Professor. You know he wanted to have both Stockholm and Rio executed in the mint? And tied Tokyo to a cart and sent her to the police!” Martín laughs again and Nairobi contemplates what she just said. “To be fair to Berlin, the last one was after Tokyo played Russian roulette with him and smashed his medicine.”

“She did what?”

Nairobi rolls her eyes. “No use getting angry about it now. Anyway, the point is that you seem to be the only one who can stand him for any length of time. You have terrible taste in men by the way.”

“Do I?” Martín raises an eyebrow. “I seem to remember that you and I agree about one man in particular.”

“Oh please, as if you actually care about Helsinki,” Nairobi says dismissively. She pauses when Martín doesn’t say anything. “Do you?”

Martín sighs. He doesn’t really want to discuss this with anyone, but he and Nairobi have a certain honesty between each other since she bared his secret shame for all to see. “Of course I do. The ‘boom boom ciao’ is more for me than for anyone else. In case you haven’t noticed, I tend to get attached.”

“Wow,” Nairobi says. She hesitates for a second and Martín is already dreading what she’s going to ask next. “So when you two… had sex. How was it?”

“What me and Helsinki?”

“Of course, I don’t want to know about Berlin!” Her face scrunches in disgust.

“You really want to know?” Martín asks, not wanting her to have to go through what he had to whenever Andrés found a new woman to bed and eventually wed. But Nairobi nods determinedly so he shrugs. “It was good.”

“And?”

“And…” he thinks for a minute. “And gentle. You know, he’s the only person who’s ever asked how I am during. The only one who’s told me he’ll stop whenever I want and meant it.”

Nairobi sniffs a little. “Is that why Berlin was angry with you? Because you slept with Helsinki when you already had him?”

“Oh god no,” Martín says. “I didn’t have Berlin then. Not until…”

“Until?” Nairobi prompts.

Martín colours. “Well, about an hour ago I suppose.”

“What?” Nairobi gasps. “Is that why he didn’t say anything when I was calling you a coward?”

Martín shrugs. “I don’t know why he does or doesn’t do things. Andrés – uh, Berlin has a mind of his own.”

“A twisted mind,” Nairobi mutters and Martín doesn’t disagree.

He grabs his gun when he hears footsteps, but when the door opens, it’s just the nurse who had been looking after Nairobi. He lowers the gun again, only for the doors on the other side of the room to open and Gandia to step in.

The nurse screams and Gandia grabs her, using her as a human shield.

“Ah, the mutt and the sudaca,” the bodyguard spits and Martín scowls, carefully shifting so he’s blocking Gandia’s view of Nairobi.

“Let the nurse go, Gandia,” he orders, trying to aim at a part that Gandia has left exposed, but the other man is too good to make such an easy mistake.

“Or what, faggot?” Gandia asks. “No, I’m going to tell you how this works, not the other way around. You’re going to drop your weapon and slide it over to me. Then I’m going to tie you both up and shove you out of the window for the police to find.”

Martín laughs. “You’re ridiculous. You want me to let you throw us out a window? That will surely kill us. Besides, you’re using one of your own as a shield. You really want to risk me shooting a civilian?”

Gandia hesitates and Martín tries to use his distraction by firing at his exposed shoulder. Unfortunately, Andrés was right when he said Martín’s eyesight was still off. His depth perception is all wrong and he misses by a foot.

In a flash, Gandia has shoved the nurse away and shot at Martín. Unfortunately, the bodyguard didn’t recently have glass pulled out of his eyes and his aim is true.

Martín feels fire in his shoulder and his knees buckle. Distantly he registers Nairobi screaming and he reaches for his gun because he was supposed to protect her, but then there is shouting in the hallway and the sound of boots on marble.

He smiles because surely Andrés is coming for him, but then he is moving away from his gun and Nairobi. He looks up to see Gandia gripping him by one foot, dragging him across the floor and out of the room.

“No,” he groans, but then Gandia is pointing a gun straight at his head.

“Shut up, you’re my insurance policy so you’ll be coming with me.”

There are voices, closer this time and Gandia breaks into a run, still dragging Martín behind him. Martín knows he needs to fight back, stay awake, do something to help himself but the pain is overwhelming, worse than anything he’s experienced – including the glass in his eyes.

His eyes slide shut just as he hears booted feet running towards him.

Shots are fired above him and he wants to turn, to make sure Gandia hasn’t hurt anyone else but it’s like trying to move in a dream and blackness swallows him before he can draw another breath.

Coming to is like emerging from a sensory deprivation tank. It’s too bright and too loud, all around him are voices and he’s trying to make sense of what they’re saying.

“I’m telling you that’s what happened!” That’s Denver, Martín can apparently recognise that idiotic laugh even when he’s half dead.

“No way,” a woman – Tokyo? – is saying. “Berlin doesn’t have feelings, especially not romantic ones.”

“I’m telling the truth, Tokyo,” Denver whines. “Ask Nairobi, she was there!”

“I’m not going down to the forge just to ask her that! She’ll run me over with that scooter thing Bogota built.”

“I believe him.” Is that Bogota? What is he doing here? Martín should open his eyes, but he’s afraid if he opens them, he might not see anything again, like when Helsinki first took the bandages off.

“Oh really?” Tokyo sounds obnoxious again and Martín wants her to leave. “Do tell, Bogota. Why do you believe Denver's ridiculous lie that Berlin kissed Palermo? Palermo is fucking Helsinki, everyone knows that.”

Bogota laughs. Martín is glad he’s here, they lost contact when Andrés left, but the man had always been good company. “Because you guys didn’t attend Berlin’s last two weddings with Palermo, having to worry he was going to either drink himself to death or poison the bride. Palermo has been in love with Berlin since he met him and Berlin is the same with him.”

Martín is sure his face would be flushed if he hadn’t just been shot.

Tokyo and Denver are arguing again, but then there are footsteps entering the room and everyone falls silent again. Martín steels himself and opens his eyes, he’s staring straight up at the ceiling so he turns in the direction of the voices and there, standing in between Denver and Tokyo is Andrés.

“Andrés,” the word escapes him before he can even think about it, he just needs him, wants him by his side. Everyone turns to look at him and then Andrés is striding across the room until he is kneeling at Martín’s bedside. “Water?” he asks and Andrés hands him an unscrewed bottle of water, helping him tip a little liquid into his mouth.

When he’s done, Andrés puts the water away again, his now free hand coming to rest in Martín’s hair, fingers gentle as they massage the top of his head. Martín swears if he were a cat he would be purring right about now.

“How are you feeling, corazón?” Andrés asks quietly. Not quietly enough because Denver giggles and says “I told you so”. Someone, probably Tokyo, must smack him because there’s the sharp sound of skin-on-skin and his inane giggling stops. Andrés scowls and Martín carefully reaches out with the arm that doesn’t feel numb, smoothing the line between Andrés' dark brows.

“I’m okay, how are things here? Is Gandia alive?” Martín asks and Andrés graces him with a half-smile.

“He’s alive, barely. We got a couple of good shots in and I wanted to finish him off, but the Professor called and said he needs him alive.”

Martín frowns. “Do we? Why?”

“He has a plan to get Lisbon back and it involves Gandia,” Andrés explains, resuming his stroking and Martín pushes into the touch.

“So what’s the plan, how can I help?”

Andrés shakes his head. “Martín, you were just shot. I’m not going to let you get involved in this plan.”

“No, you need to let me help. Besides it can’t have been that bad, I’m alive aren’t I?” Martín protests.

“Yes, you’re alive,” Andrés hisses, his hand unconsciously tightening in Martín’s hair. “But only barely. When we found you I thought… Well, Helsinki had to dig the bullet out and then stitch you back up. You’re going to have a scar.”

Martín sighs. “Well, the glass ruined my good looks already, what’s one more scar?”

“You’re still good looking,” Andrés says with a scowl and Martín swears if Denver laughs at that, he’ll shoot him himself.

“Whatever you say. So this plan, there’s no way I can help?”

Andrés shakes his head. “No, we’ll be okay. I need you to just stay here and look after yourself okay?”

“Fine,” Martín finally acquiesces. “When is it happening?”

“Tomorrow morning. The professor will give us a signal. Then, Gandia is going to contact the police and say that he needs an extraction. We’ll have our helicopter fly in with Lisbon and make it look like Gandia is on the roof so she can drop down,” Andrés explains.

Martín frowns. “Why is she coming here once she escapes? Why not go to the Professor, or go on the run?”

“That’s what I said,” Denver butts in from behind Andrés.

“Because,” Andrés says, with the air of a man who has had this conversation too many times already. “The Professor can’t risk Lisbon accidentally leading the police to him and being here is the safest place for her.”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Denver mutters and Andrés stands, pulling away from Martín.

“I’ve explained it to you as many times as I can Denver and my patience has officially run out. Go and help Matías with the hostages. Tokyo, go with him and keep an eye on Gandia, if that son of a bitch moves at all, put another bullet in him. I don’t care if we have to dig it out again afterwards,” Andrés orders.

“I still can’t believe you needed both of us here to guard Palermo. Nothing was going to happen to him,” Tokyo says over her shoulder as she leaves.

Martín raises an eyebrow. “They were both here to guard me?”

“Well, last time I left you got shot,” Andrés says and it may be the morphine, but Martín can’t help but think he looks adorable.

“So why is Bogota here?” Martín asks and Andrés frowns.

“I don’t know,” he rounds on their friend. “Bogota, why are you here.”

Bogota rolls his eyes and holds up a syringe. “I was getting painkillers for Nairobi and then Denver and Tokyo dragged me into their stupid conversation over whether you have feelings.”

Andrés scowls. “Of course I have feelings, why was that even up for debate?”

Bogota looks incredulous at the question and just leaves without answering.

“I have feelings,” Andrés repeats as he turns back to the bed, more to himself than anyone else Martín suspects.

“I know you do, mi amor,” Martín says, a little thrill going through him that he’s allowed to call Andrés that now. “Help me sit up?” He tries to get his arms under him and Andrés is quick to slide an arm around his back, helping him lever himself into a slightly more upright position.

“Does it hurt?” Andrés asks, stuffing pillows behind his back.

Martín shakes his head. “Not really, I can’t feel my right side at all.”

Andrés nods approvingly. “I guess Helsinki can follow orders after all.”

“Hey, be nice to him,” Martín chastises.

“I’m always nice,” Andrés says with a smile that Martín can only describe as devilish.

“So the plan isn’t till tomorrow?” he asks and Andrés nods.

“Yes, it’s in about ten hours.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Andrés frowns. “Why?”

“Because I’m sure it’s been a while and… I want you to stay,” Martín says, too relaxed from the morphine to regret his honesty. “With me. Here, that is. You should stay and sleep.”

Andrés chuckles softly. “I got that the first time, cariño.

Martín smiles. “I like when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Call me things. Like cariño, or corazón,” Martín admits.

“You do, do you?” Andrés asks with a raised eyebrow. “Then I shall endeavour to continue calling you names.”

“Not in front of the hostages,” Martín hastens to add and Andrés laughs.

“Oh no of course not. In front of them you shall just be Palermo. Maybe fearless leader if I’m feeling generous,” Andrés teases. “But when we’re alone…”

“Yes?” Martín asks, slightly breathless already and cursing the bullet wound that means even if he wanted to he couldn’t get up to anything with Andrés.

“I’ll never again call you by your Christian name. You will simply be corazón, mi amor, cariño, querido, tesoro. Maybe I’ll even switch it up language wise. You could be caro, angelo, mon cher, mon rêve, mein Schatz, Liebling, or…. Kätzchen?” Andrés frowns at the last one and Martín wrinkles his nose.

“Don’t call me a kitten, Andrés.”

“Agreed, that was too far,” Andrés says with a nod. “Now shift over a little so I can get that nap you promised me.”

Martín does, with Andrés help, manage to shuffle over in the bed he’s pretty sure Nairobi had been lying in before him. Andrés kicks his boots off and undoes his shoulder holster so he can pull his jumpsuit down to his waist.

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed – not by a long shot – it’s not even the first time Andrés has allowed Martín to put his head on Andrés' chest to sleep, but it feels different anyway. Martín lies as close to Andrés as he can without being fully on top of him and Andrés rearranges his limbs until they’re a comfortable, tangled mess.

“If we get shot because you insisted on cuddling, I’m haunting you in the afterlife,” Andrés mumbles into Martín’s hair.

Martín pokes him in the side. “Don’t be stupid, if we’re both dead you can’t haunt me. Now got to sleep.”

He’s sure Andrés says something else but honestly, staying awake this long has been a challenge and now that he has Andrés’ arms around him, keeping him warm, he drops off almost immediately.

* * *

Andrés wakes before Martín, which isn’t entirely surprising since he wasn’t shot and then pumped full of morphine. The light filtering into the office signals it’s morning, but early still. There’s another few hours until they have to complete Plan Paris.

He shifts a little and Martín snuffles, turning his head back towards Andrés. Andrés watches him, fascinated by how his eyes move under the delicate skin of his eyelids, his whole body restless even in sleep.

When Martín starts whimpering and twitching in his sleep, Andrés smooths a hand through his hair. “Shh, cariño, it’s alright,” Andrés tells him, but Martín wakes with a fright anyway, his hands desperately reaching for Andrés. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Martín nods, but they’re close enough that Andrés can feel his heart hammering frantically against his ribs.

“What’s wrong, Martín?” Andrés asks, but the other man just shakes his head, relaxing back into the pillows.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter,” Martín says, turning away a little.

Andrés frowns. “Well clearly it does, if it’s upsetting you.”

He doesn’t get a reply and he’s almost willing to let the subject drop when Martín suddenly says: “What’s going to happen after?”

“After what?”

“After… if we get out of here?”

“First of all, when, not if we get out of here,” Andrés tells him and Martín rolls his eyes. “When we get out of here, I expect we’ll do something similar to last time. Split up and find somewhere to live that’s far from here.”

Martín nods, looking down, his lashes fanning across his scratched-up cheeks. “And when you go… who will you go with? Sergio and Lisbon?”

Andrés almost wants to laugh, to scoff and ask Martín if he’s stupid. But when he thinks about their history, he realises that it’s completely natural for Martín to question his place by his side. He left him four times to marry different women and in between, there were times he left because Sergio needed him, or a particularly interesting woman had wanted him to take her away on a luxurious holiday. And Martín had always stayed behind without complaint, just waiting for Andrés to call and tell him he was on his way back, or to give him their next meeting place – or once, when he was done with his fourth wife, to have Martín serve divorce papers for him.

He turns onto his side, propped up on one elbow so he is leaning over Martín.

He puts a careful hand on Martín’s face, gently turning him towards him. “Martín, mi amor, look at me,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. Martín follows his instructions reluctantly. His eyes are still bloodshot and his bottom lip is trembling, making him look younger than Andrés knows him to be. “There would be no point in me going anywhere without you. If there’s anything the last two years have proven, it’s that even paradise gets lonely and there is no one I would rather be on a beach – or in a tastefully decorated house – with than you. Understood?”

Martín nods, a single tear escaping from the corner of his less damaged eye. “Understood,” he whispers and Andrés pulls him into the most restrained kiss of his life, aware that less than twelve hours ago, he had Martín’s blood all over his hands, watching Helsinki dig a bullet out of him.

“Don’t we look cosy,” a voice says from behind them and Andrés breaks away from Martín to see Nairobi rolling into the room in the electric cart that Bogota had cobbled together for her. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she laughs. “I’m just here to get my latest dose of antibiotics and painkillers. Oh and Helsi asked me to check on you, Palermo. I think he’s worried he fucked up your shoulder.”

Andrés scowls at the mention of Helsinki, but ignores his anger in favour of helping Martín who is struggling to sit up. Martín rolls both shoulders slowly, hissing when he overstretches the right one.

“Don’t tear your stitches,” Andrés chastises and Martín glares at him.

“Yes mama,” he mutters and Nairobi snorts.

She climbs out of her little wagon and shuffles over to the table with the meds. “I guess you’re fine if you’re back to being grumpy.” She gestures with a syringe. “When is the last time you had one of these, by the way?”

“Um,” Martín looks up at Andrés who sighs and climbs out of the bed.

“It was a while ago, I’ll get you some,” he says and Martín looks so pathetically grateful Andrés has to actively stop himself from hugging him again.

“You on the good stuff?” Nairobi asks Martín as she injects herself with something without even blinking.

Martín laughs. “I don’t even know, but I’ve only just started feeling like I was shot, so I guess so. Thanks for the bed, by the way.”

Nairobi shrugs. “It’s okay, I needed to go whip the boys downstairs into shape and I was getting bored up here.” She shoots Andrés a worried glance when he stops fiddling with the syringe and glares at her. “Apart from you getting shot of course, that wasn’t boring. Thank you by the way. I’m pretty sure that bastard would have killed me, if you weren’t there.”

Andrés finishes up with the medication in time to see Martín give a tight smile. “Move the blanket down for me, cariño,” he tells Martín, pointedly ignoring the way Nairobi repeats the word “cariño” mockingly.

Martín does as he’s told and Andrés gives him both the antibiotics and the morphine as quickly and efficiently as he can. “Nairobi, can you watch him while I get us some breakfast?” Andrés asks, ignoring Martín’s squawk of protest that he needs watched.

Nairobi pulls a face. “I don’t know, I was just going to get some painkillers and go back to helping Bogota. I think Helsinki is on a break though, I’ll send him your way with some food, okay?”

She’s back on her cart and scooting away before Andrés can protest.

“You can’t be angry at every man I’ve ever slept with,” Martín says, voice betraying his concern.

Andrés smiles at him. “Of course not,” he says sweetly. “Only the most recent ones.”

“Hey,” Martín says. “I was never allowed to hate any of your wives.”

“You did though. You definitely hate Tatiana and you couldn’t stand Marietta,” Andrés says harshly, regretting it when Martín’s face falls.

“I don’t hate Tatiana,” he mumbles. “And Marietta was different.”

Andrés sighs. “I know. I should have divorced her the minute she called you that.”

“It’s okay,” Martín says. “At least you stayed that time.”

Only because I was afraid you were going to choke on your own vomit, Andrés thinks but doesn’t say. He’s thankfully spared the conversation continuing by the arrival of Helsinki.

The giant man is carrying sandwiches and water and Andrés scowls uncharitably when he sees he’s carrying enough for three.

“Palermo!” Helsinki says joyfully when he sets eyes on Martín. “You’re awake!”

“Yes,” Martín says. “and I hear I have you to thank for digging out the bullet Gandia put in me.”

Helsinki’s smile fades a little. “Yes, I’m sorry if it doesn’t heal neatly. I did my best.”

“I’m sure you did, my friend,” Martín says. “Either way, all that matters is that I’m alive enough to annoy both Berlin and Tokyo, and to tell Denver that he sounds like an idiot when he laughs.”

Helsinki laughs and even Andrés manages to crack a smile at that. “You don’t annoy me, querido,” he tells Martín who raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Helsinki, you should sit,” Martín says, gesturing to the chair next to his bedside. When Helsinki does, Andrés makes a point of sitting back in the bed with Martín. He accepts the sandwich Helsinki hands him, then opens Martín’s for him since he seems to be having trouble using both hands.

“Nerve damage?” Helsinki asks, managing to sound both concerned and incredibly blunt.

Martín grimaces. “I don’t know. I’m pretty numb from the painkillers.”

“We’ll find out when we get out of here,” Andrés reassures him and Helsinki smiles at him. Andrés wishes the man would stop being so nice. He must realise he has no chance with Martín now, so what is his game?

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Palermo,” Helsinki says just as Andrés has taken a bite of his subpar sandwich. “When we heard the shots and the screaming… I thought I had lost both you and Nairobi. And after the last heist… Oslo was like my brother, you know.”

Martín leans forward and as much as Andrés hates the closeness between him and Helsinki, he supports him anyway, helping him sit so that he can take Helsinki’s hand.

“I know how you feel. This sort of pain, it’s different from physical. But if you don’t get out of it now, you have no idea where you’ll fall,” Martín says and Andrés hates the way he self-consciously starts rubbing at the scar on his wrist so he takes his hand, twining their fingers together. “And I know I treated you badly, but I’m telling you now that I won’t let you fall, even if we aren’t… you know? We’re brothers, right?”

“Yes,” Helsinki says, nodding, even as tears fill his eyes. “We are. And we’ll get out of here, all of us, together. I’m not losing anyone else. Not even you, Berlin.”

As much Andrés hates every single thing that just happened, he smiles at Helsinki and lets go of Martín’s hand so the two men can hug – although he does keep a hand on the small of Martín’s back, he’s not a saint after all.

After that, their breakfast almost continues normally, with Andrés and Helsinki going over the finer details of the upcoming excursion to the roof and Martín bitching about not being allowed to help.

“Hey, you’ll be in the library when we move the hostages there. That means you can terrorise Arturo for me while I’m gone,” Andrés says, only half joking. He hates the former head of the mint, especially after overhearing from Denver that the man had made advances on Stockholm. “Can you believe he’s pretending he was a great hero in the mint? As if he ever did anything but whine and put other people in danger.”

Helsinki nods in agreement. “It’s that bastard’s fault that Oslo died,” he growls and Andrés has to admit he had almost forgotten that.

Martín grins slyly. “Oh I’m sure Arturito and I will have some fun,” he says and Andrés feels a rush of affection, that he tries to cover by stuffing the rest of his sandwich into his mouth inelegantly.

When they’ve finished eating, Andrés helps Martín to the bathroom and speaks to Sergio while he waits. Then he helps Martín into his jumpsuit so he’s not sitting about in his underwear and t-shirt.

“Do you think you can walk to the library?” he asks as he ties Martín’s boots for him.

Martín nods determinedly, but Andrés isn’t convinced.

“I could carry you?” Helsinki offers and Martín scowls.

“Absolutely not, I’m not some woman to be carried about and I refuse to be carried in, in front of the hostages,” he says, rage colouring his cheeks.

“You can’t walk all the way there, Martín,” Andrés says as Martín stubbornly crosses his arms. “You aren’t strong enough.”

“How about I carry you most of the way there, but you walk into the library by yourself?” Helsinki tries again. Martín still doesn’t look convinced, so Andrés decides for him.

“Helsinki, that sounds like an excellent idea, let’s go,” he says and before he can say anything else, Helsinki is sweeping Martín up into his arms with an ease that Andrés will never admit to being envious of.

Andrés leads the way, decidedly not laughing at Martín’s bitching about being picked up, which only gets louder when Helsinki makes the mistake of suggesting that maybe he would be harder to pick up if he were taller. Martín insists they stop several metres away from the library where Rio and Stockholm should have assembled the hostages by now.

“Helsinki, stay here, I’ll take his lordship into the library,” Andrés says, giving Martín his arm to lean on. Helsinki nods, flashing Martín a smile as Andrés leads him away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Andrés addresses the hostages when they enter. “I hope you’re enjoying your relocation – it’s entirely for your safety of course.”

He steers Martín over to a leather desk chair, making sure he’s seated comfortably before turning back to the hostages. “My dear friend Palermo will be keeping you company,” he says with a flourishing gesture to where Martín is propped up, now once again holding a weapon. “As will Matías, of course.” He nods at the younger man who is standing by the door.

“What happened to him?” one of the hostages asks, pointing at Martín.

Andrés smiles pleasantly. “He had some bad oysters.” There’s a couple of giggles from the assembled hostages. “Any other questions?” He’s met by silence. “Good, I’ll be back shortly.”

He shoots Martín a look, wishing he’d taken the chance to kiss him before they went in – by the looks of it, Martín feels similarly.

When he steps into the hallway, Helsinki is still waiting for him.

“Alright?” he asks and Andrés nods.

“Yes, let’s go get Lisbon back.”

* * *

Hostages are boring. All they do is sit there and flinch whenever he moves. Matías is boring too. He’s too inexperienced to be able to to talk and pay attention to the hostages at the same time and while Martín likes Manila, she’s still undercover and he can’t risk drawing unnecessary attention to her.

Add on top of that the fact that he was shot less than 24 hours ago due to which he’s on some pretty hefty painkillers and he keeps catching himself nodding off.

He’s jerked awake from a micro nap the third time when one of the hostages starts getting rowdy. He sighs when he sees it’s Arturo. At least he basically has blanket permission from every member of the gang to treat this man a little worse than the other hostages.

Arturo keeps whispering to a woman with glasses who seems desperate to get away from him. When first the intern and then the governor himself get involved, Palermo pushes himself to his feet.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, gesturing between the four of them.

“This man is a despicable scumbag,” the governor says, pointing a finger at Arturo.

Martín shrugs. “So I’ve heard.”

Arturo gets to his feet in outrage. “How dare you!” he says and Matías takes a step towards him.

“I didn’t say you could stand,” Martín says, quietly.

Arturo doesn’t sit down, but instead starts pointing at the woman with glasses. “Amanda is spreading slanderous lies about me.”

“Palermo told you to sit down!” Matías says, walking towards Arturo. Martín sees about a second too late what’s going to happen and then Arturo has disarmed Matías.

Palermo sighs and lazily points his gun at Arturo who is frantically moving between aiming at him, Matías, and the governor. “Sit down Arturo, no one has the time or the patience for your amateur theatrics and fake heroics.”

“Fake heroics?” Arturo puffs. “I am a hero. I know you weren’t in the mint, but you’re scum just like the rest of your little gang. You’re just like them! You know Denver raped and abducted my love, Mónica? And you, from what I’ve heard you’ve been looking to have your pick of the young men.”

Martín has to admit the last remark makes him bristle, but he tries not to let it show. “Original, accusing the gay man of rape. And yet, it’s you Arturo, who is currently being accused. Since from what I’ve heard, everything you say is a lie, I’m inclined to believe Amanda.”

Arturo clicks the safety on the gun off, aiming it squarely at Martín, who is starting to wonder if he’s really going to be shot twice in as many days.

Thankfully, Manila chooses that moment to pull her gun and get to her feet.

“Arturo!” she says. “You’re going to put that G-36 on the floor in approximately three seconds because if you don’t, you’re a dead man.”

Martín grins, feeling oddly proud as Manila introduces herself.

Arturo doesn’t seem as pleased. “That gun’s fake, like the ones they gave us before,” he says stupidly as if it weren’t a completely different make and model. “You’re not fooling me.”

Manila rolls her eyes and cocks the gun. “You have two seconds left. Put your gun on the floor.”

“I’d do as she says,” Martín says, smiling at Arturo. “You’ve been shot before, right? Do you want to experience it again?”

“Get on the floor,” Manila repeats. “And pray it’s not true you raped Amanda.

“You’re really getting on my nerves, honey. I’m running out of patience.” Arturo blusters and Martín sighs. He wants this to be over soon so he can go back to sitting down in a way that doesn’t make his whole body ache.

“One,” Manila says and shoots Arturo neatly along the leg. Arturo falls to the ground, crying out much too dramatically in Martín’s opinion.

“Well done, Manila,” he tells her. “You’re my new favourite member of the gang. Just don’t tell Berlin.”

She grins, but doesn’t take her eyes off Arturo who is rolling around on the ground like some sort of giant slug. Martín gestures for Matías to take his gun back and listens to Arturo’s obvious lies.

“I didn’t rape her,” the man insists. “I only gave her some pills for the anxiety.” Then he continues to insist that he’s dying until the governor tells him he isn’t.

“Arturo, consider yourself under arrest, accused of rape, and… I just remembered. You offered me some pills too, didn’t you? You piece of shit,” Manila says and Martín tuts.

“It seems we have a problem, dear Arturito,” he says. “You see, at the beginning of this heist, both Berlin and I promised you all that none of you would get hurt. But now you’ve made us liars. What do we do about that?”

Arturo whimpers. “Please, I didn’t mean to.”

“A lame excuse if ever I heard one,” Martín says. “Matías, be a dear and go and get the table that’s in the office next door. And some rope. I’ve just had a wonderful idea.”

If Andrés is surprised when he walks into the library with Stockholm, Denver, and Helsinki to find Arturo tied to a table, his torso and legs covered by a sheet that has the word ‘rapist’ splashed across it in bold, red letters he doesn’t show it.

“Palermo? What have you been up to?” he asks, as Denver’s mouth drops open in shock.

Martín shrugs. “I should think it’s obvious. Amanda was attacked in the foulest manner possible and Manila made a citizen’s arrest. However, since none of us can walk out and hand him to the police, I thought we could show a little good will and release the bodyguards together with Arturo. That way all of Spain’s citizens will know to stay away from him.”

Andrés raises both eyebrows, but nods. “An excellent idea. Denver, go bring in a television, I think we’ll all want to see this.”

Denver does as he’s told and as soon as the TV is set up with a live feed of the outside of the building, Andrés and Helsinki escort the bodyguards, who are carrying the table with Arturo on it like pallbearers, to the lobby.

Martín and the others watch as right there on national television, Arturo Roman is carried out of the bank, his crime clear for all to see. Andrés and Helsinki return, and once the broadcast switches away from the live feed and to speculation, Denver takes it away again.

Stockholm and Manila are in the corner, talking to Amanda and Martín winks at Denver when he stares.

Andrés jerks his head towards the door, waiting for Martín to pick his way through the crowd of hostages before lending him his arm. Once they’re out of the library, Martín visibly sags and Andrés wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him securely against his body.

“Tired?” he asks and Martín nods. “It’s okay, I’m taking you to bed.” Martín wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Andrés laughs. “No, not like that. Not even you could manage that right now.”

“I have to agree with you,” Martín yawns. “Wait, you didn’t tell me – Lisbon? Is she okay.”

Andrés nods. “Yes, you’ll see her in a minute. She’ll be staying in the same room as you and Nairobi. We scrounged up another couple of beds. It’s amazing all the things you can fit in a military truck, you know.”

“Thank goodness,” Martín says. “I was afraid this was all for nothing.”

Andrés stops, making Martín stop too. “Even if we had failed with Lisbon, it wouldn’t have been for nothing. What you did in there to Arturo,” Andrés smiles almost cruelly as he leans Martín against a wall. “You’re a marvel.”

“Well, it was mostly Manila,” Martín says, trying to ignore how his body is reacting to Andrés pressing him against yet another wall, so close their foreheads are touching.

Andrés laughs. “Now is not the time to be humble,” he says and then his lips are on Martín’s, devouring him in a way that he’d only ever allow Andrés to do.

Martín let his hands roam up Andrés’ strong back, wishing he wasn’t wearing a jumpsuit so that he could slide his hands along warm skin instead of cheap fabric.

“You,” Andrés gasps as Martín nips at his jawline. “Are making it very hard…” he trails off as Martín moves back to his mouth.

“That’s the idea,” Martín says, unable to let the joke slip through his fingers.

“You’re making it very hard to remember we’re on a heist,” Andrés finishes, one hand at the back of Martín’s hair, the other gripping his waist tightly. “I thought you were tired?”

“Oh I am,” Martín says. “But this is better.”

“Enough,” Andrés says, thankfully ignoring the little whining noise Martín makes when he pulls away. “You’re injured and I won’t risk your health for this. We’ll have all the time in the world after.”

“After?” Martín asks, his heart speeding up.

Andrés smiles, his face softening in a way Martín rarely sees. “I told you before, it’s you and me from here on out. Besides, I’m sure you’ll look lovely all stretched out on a beach. I’ve always enjoyed having sex outdoors.”

Martín groans as Andrés wraps an arm around him again and starts walking towards the office. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Of course, I can,” Andrés says. “You know I’m not a liar and I keep my promises.”

Lisbon is sitting on a new bed with Tokyo when they make it to the office-turned-infirmary.

“Palermo!” she says and Martín is surprised to find himself engulfed in a hug.

“Lisbon, I’m glad to see you’re okay. How did the police treat you?”

She shrugs, but Martín can see the tension in her body. “As we expected. How are you?”

“I was shot, it’s not ideal, but we’re making it work,” he says and he watches as her eyes flick between him and Andrés.

“I’m glad,” she says finally and Tokyo groans from where she’s stretched out on Lisbon’s bed.

“I can’t believe I’m practically the last to know you two are fucking,” she says and Martín feels Andrés’ hand tighten reflexively on his waist.

“Come on, bed,” Andrés orders, helping him over to the vacant bed next to the one Nairobi is already asleep in.

Just as Martín is settled in bed, the radio buzzes. Tokyo hands it to Lisbon who smiles down at the receiver. She listens for a moment, then says: “Okay, Professor. See you soon.”

She turns back to them, a wide smile on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lisbon says. “We’re commencing plan Glasgow. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

The house in Phu Quoc is beautiful. Martín was a little ashamed to admit that he’d never been to Vietnam before, but Andrés assured him it was the place for them.

It was hard to part from the others when the time came, especially Helsinki, but he was comforted by the fact that the Professor had scheduled a reunion of sorts twenty months after their escape from the Bank of Spain and that it was now only a few weeks away.

“What are you thinking about?” Andrés asks from above him.

Martín shifts so his head is more comfortably in Andrés’ lap and strokes a hand up his bare stomach. “Just the reunion. It will be nice to see everyone again.”

Andrés frowns. “Don’t call it a reunion, it’s a check-in. To make sure Tokyo didn’t lose Rio again.”

Martín rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, cariño. Just admit that you missed your brother and the others.”

“Why would I miss them, when I have you right here?” Andrés asks, smiling indulgently.

“See,” Martín says. “Ridiculous.”

“And you,” Andrés says, flashing a dangerous smile. “Are getting cheeky. Have I spoiled you?” he asks, rolling Martín off his lap so that he is flat on his back in the sand.

“Personally, I don’t think you’ve spoiled me enough,” Martín snarks as Andrés lowers himself on top of him.

Andrés rolls his hips, making Martín moan. “Are you sure about that?” he asks and Martín nods, raising his head to meet Andrés in a searing kiss. “Well, I suppose I do like you spoiled,” he says, his hands snaking down to pull Martín’s bathing suit off him.

“Andrés,” Martín whines, drawing out his name. “Can’t we go inside? You know how long it took me to get rid of all the sand last time.”

Andrés shoots him a wicked smile. “Oh but why would I? When you look so pretty all spread out in the sun for me.” He leans forward and swallows the rest of Martín’s protests.

“Alright?” Andrés asks afterwards and Martín smiles lazily.

“Very alright,” he says, resting his head on Andrés’ chest. “But I don’t want you complaining about there being sand in the bed tonight. Any sand that’s there is completely and utterly your fault.”

Andrés sighs. “Fine, but I still think you’re spoiled.”

Martín grins against Andrés sun-warmed skin. “You’re the one who melted 90 tonnes of gold for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> ooft and here we are. thoughts? tears? kudos? leave them all here.
> 
> I sadly only speak English and German so all of the Spanish endearments are from the extremely helpful list that @actual-penguin made on tumblr (thank you so much for that)
> 
> Also I am completely aware that I fudged the timeline a bit, I hope you guys can forgive me for that as well as for not explaining how they get out of the bank - i just have no idea how they're going to do it.
> 
> I might have already written the beginning of the third part, aka the reunion if you guys aren't sick of this yet?
> 
> As always feel free to stop by my [tumblr](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com/ask) and say hi!


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